


Ink and Dirt, Eggs and Orange Juice

by HappySeaNinja



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Death, Character Study, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Non-Linear Narrative, The Umbrella Academy (TV) Season 2 Spoilers, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26662249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappySeaNinja/pseuds/HappySeaNinja
Summary: It’s a quick job on an overcast day, in and out, smooth like coffee, and the only hitch is in his voice when he says goodbye. There’s dirt under his fingernails, ink on his stomach, and a lingering shot of whisky on his tongue.Really, it’s all that’s left.Non-linear moments in Klaus and Dave's relationship across seasons 1 and 2. Please don't read unless you've watched all of season 2 as there are spoilers.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz, Sissy Cooper/Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Ink and Dirt, Eggs and Orange Juice

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I just finished Umbrella Academy and couldn't resist writing a oneshot on Klaus and Dave's relationship, I hope you like it. Warning there are spoilers for seasons 1 and 2 of the show. 
> 
> I apologise for any grammar and/or spelling mistakes.

It’s a quick job on an overcast day, in and out, smooth like coffee, and the only hitch is in his voice when he says goodbye. There’s dirt under his fingernails, ink on his stomach, and a lingering shot of whisky on his tongue.

Really, it’s all that’s left.

*****

He is seven months older than his siblings when he jumps onto the chair with ease. “Come on! Let’s do it! I’ll go first!” he announces gaily as Dave just watches him hesitantly. The light from the tattoo parlour is biblical after spending the night in the dark street, but Klaus can see the intrigue in the man’s face, the slow eagerness that he is 99.9% certain only has a 15% chance of being down to the ecstasy Dave took earlier.

Dave enters the parlour like a skittish alley cat. “What are you thinking of getting?” he asks and Klaus merely smirks before turning to the tattooist and instructing him on what to do. The session is long and Klaus smiles at Dave all the way through it. It is certainly because he loves this man and completely unrelated to the heroin he took earlier.

“But what does it say?” Dave asks two hours later, poking at his own tattoo.

“Don’t touch it, it’ll get infected.” Klaus says rolling his eyes, leading the man down a small, darkened, dead end alley away from the locals and the soldiers.

“Yours doesn’t look like Vietnamese.” He comments, sweaty faced in the heat and leaning against the hushed, nondescript wall.

“It’s in Thai.” Klaus explains as he fits himself puzzle piece tight into Dave’s arms.

“You speak Thai?” and his voice is impressed, head bobbing down to look at Klaus who tries not to squirm. Klaus is rarely surprised, yet the fact that after all his fuck ups and faults he can impress the straightlaced Dallas born and bred man in his arms, that surprises him. It awakens a feeling that would be a stretch to call self-love and is probably more apt to be called self-like. Still, it’s miles away from the standard affair and it makes him feel giddy.

“Yeah.”

“When did you learn?”

“My dad made me learn it as a kid.” He pauses, then: “You know, we could go to Thailand.” He mutters, forehead grazing Dave’s lips.

“After the war?”

“Now.” Klaus looks up as Dave pulls his head away, his face torn.

“We can’t desert.”

“Yes, we could.” It’s a little too forceful, a little too whiny, and Dave drops his arms. Klaus rebalances himself.

“I can’t desert, my dad, my uncle… he was mad enough I didn’t join the Marines.” And he gives a hiccup laugh that sounds a bit too much like a strangled sob to be convincing. Klaus pulls Dave’s face back to his own.

“We could, later, if things get bad.” Klaus says quietly, pecking him on the lips, fingertips grazing a morning shadow jaw, and really just wanting Dave’s comforting arms around him again. Things are already bad. Actually, it’s more like they’re really fucking bad and he’s terrified that they might lose the fragile mortality that rattles around inside of them. But Klaus can’t let go yet. He has a briefcase containing every when of time and he’s still running out of time to let go.

“What does it say?” Dave asks, his voice curious. _Changing the topic,_ Klaus thinks.

“Klaus loves Dave” And Klaus’ smile falters fractionally as Dave misses several beats. Then:

“You do?” he asks quietly, because when they’re alone Dave asks everything quietly. Klaus nods, feeling vulnerable and nervous and hating it. The kiss is brief, self-conscious, and well-aware of the danger zone it is taking place in. Still, it confirms everything that Klaus needs to know so he doesn’t mind that it’s too short for his desire. They have time. They could have all the time if Klaus wanted them to.

Instead they head to a bar, they dance, Klaus mixes upper and downers, and what they have is a jolly good evening.

*****

“For Christ’s sake snap out of it!” the voice wears anger like a prima ballerina wears pointe shoes, it’s refined, quiet, and underneath it all there’s a bloody hurt that seeks out and slaps Klaus’ slumped form against the radiator. Honestly, he’d expected it from Diego. The man’s been a poster child for ‘Broken up on Valentine’s Day’ since they got back.

She hops down from the kitchen table and crosses the sun-soaked room, taking the empty bottles from beside him. “Oh, come on!” when she makes a grab for the half full one. She raises one eyebrow, something he’s always been envious that she can do, and takes it anyway.

“You’re not the only person who’s lost someone.” Her voice corset tight as she puts the bottles in the recycling and starts pouring others down the sink. Klaus tries to lift himself up and it’s sort of pathetic because his upper and lower body are having a hard time synchronising. Instead he opts for a mid-way crouch, holding onto the radiator as though he’s hanging off the wrong side of a safety railing.

He’d roll his eyes if the world wasn’t already spinning, because _of course_ he knows he’s not the only one who has lost someone. Allison lost Raymond and her daughter doesn’t exist, Diego lost Lila, Vanya lost Sissy. But there’s a qualitative difference, they didn’t kill Raymond, Lila, or Sissy. Not like Klaus killed Dave by being an idiot and thinking he could change history. He just made it so much worse. That’s his cross to bear and he thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of showing how heavy it is because he’s stumbling and falling, and it’s barely gone 11am. “It’s different.” He can stay crouched by the radiator, but in doing so he sacrifices his words as they gush into one another from his mouth turned fire hydrant. Vanya places her hands on her hips and gives him a look so reminiscent of Mom that Klaus does a double take.

“How?”

“Sissy lived a long, happy life with a lovely woman. I… I killed Dave… maybe he wouldn’t have enlisted if I’d not done anything.” Vanya snorts.

“Do you really believe that?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You’re better than this.” And she waves her arm in his general direction. Her face is taught, strained, and even in his inebriated state Klaus can see she does not have the emotional capacity to deal with his own crisis. He wants to reassure her and tell her that yes, in fact, he is. The thing is, he’s not sure he is. Not really. Even without drugs he was a cult leader, he couldn’t just get a grip and do something normal like get married or fall in love with a time travelling assassin… or get amnesia and work on a farm.

The cherry on top is that if, maybe, he hadn’t been some weird cult leader, Dave would have taken him seriously. That makes everything more awful because even sober he’s still a shitty person. Realising that she isn’t going to get a response, Vanya huffs and leaves the tiny kitchen for her box room.

Klaus sits back down again comprehending that walking is beyond his current capacities, and what’s definitely worse is that Ben isn’t here to make stupid comments about eggs and orange juice. There was a real threat of nuclear war when, the previous day, Five snapped that Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club belonged back in the 60s while Luther and Allison had to restrain Diego and Klaus told Vanya to ignore him.

In this cramped, rented apartment that pushes their limits and tolerance for sharing space, that they don’t technically pay for thanks to Allison’s smooth talking, he’s never felt more alone.

*****

If the butterflies weren’t so overpowering, he would find it pathetic the way his stomach swoops at every camera flash look and blanket soft touch that are that slightly longer and warmer than average and that Dave seems to reserve just for him. He hasn’t been this keen to get someone’s approval since he was eight, locked in a mausoleum, and slowly realising he would never get his father’s seal. So, he polishes guns, laces his boots, and he doesn’t deliberately show everyone up at shooting practice to try and impress Dave, it’s a fluke that he hits the target in every major organ and artery.

And it’s not that he wants to stay. They’re in the front lines, people are dropping like flies, and there’s so much noise, and blood, and dismembered limbs that he thinks he’s going to go crazy. He never leaves the case by itself. Yet as soon as he gives it a glance, caresses the shiny, silver buckles, thinks he can’t handle seeing the lifeless body of another squadron member (or hearing their screaming spirit for that matter), there’s a flash of a look, a snuggle of a cosy, blanket touch, and the case slides under his bunk and he grabs his gun.

It’s not time yet, and Klaus should know, he has all of time sitting under his bunk, by his side at the canteen, and between his legs on the front lines. It is to be used only in case of emergency.

*****

“My Uncle” he says by way of explanation to the kind faced librarian as she guides him through years of dusty, forgotten lives. It’s easier than saying “My lover who died in a war that took place before I was born and who does not exist in this timeline.”

She’s all whispered apologies and sincere sympathies and Klaus considers the very real possibility that he might burst into tears. But then she’s gone, bustling back through the aisles and up the stairs with a perfumed swish and a:

“Don’t hesitate if you need anything.”

The filing cabinet is open and David Joseph Katz’ file pokes out from the rest. Klaus grabs it with trembling fingers.

All that’s left of him is ink and dust and the dog tags around Klaus’ neck.

And the memories, but they get hazy around the edges and in the retelling, like old film reel in documentaries.

He slaps the file down on the top of the cabinet, trying to ignore how the dust and musty papers make his head spin.

He enlisted in 1963 but wasn’t shipped out until 65. There are details about his battles and Klaus skims these but really, he’s looking for- His eyes stop, and he traces the faded ink with his shaky fingers. He died in 67 during the Battle of Hue. Stomach blown open, a slow death. With trembling hands, he flicks back to the front page and watches as a Dave five years younger, the one he condemned to death and who yelled at him in a diner and the mansion, stares back at him.

For a mad moment he’s tempted to steal the file, because it’s not like Agnes, or Winifred, or whatever the hell the fifty-year-old librarian is called, is going to notice.

Klaus takes one last look at Dave’s face and slides the file back into the cabinet, closing it softly. Despite several sheets of paper and metal between them, he can feel Dave’s gaze burn into him. He is completely and utterly fucked, because not only has he caused the death of the first man he ever loved, he’s mourning a man that in this timeline never even existed. Klaus thinks of all the moments he held Dave’s hand, stayed nestled in his arms, kissed him, talked about their hopes and dreams, traced his fingers along the tattoo on Dave’s arm while Dave caressed the one of Klaus’ stomach. Klaus’ tattoo is still there. Dave never got one. None of that happened. But it also kind of did.

What do you do when you love someone that exists and does not exist?

He answers the phone even though every fibre of his being tells him to leave it, that he can be unreliable Klaus again with the blood alcohol level to prove it. He takes the call “Klaus we need you back here,” it’s Allison.

“Why?” he whines.

“We need to discuss the Sparrow Academy.”

“Can’t we do that later?” and he hears her huff with irritation.

“For God’s sake Klaus! Get yourself out of whatever bar you’re in and get back here. Now!” she hangs up before he can respond. Klaus swallows the lump in his throat and the feeling of indignation that he’s squandering his time in a bar. That’s not all he does.

His left pocket vibrates, and he pulls out his phone again to see Allison’s message “NOW!”, and another from Diego saying, “Need a lift?” and Klaus isn’t sure if it is genuine or if he has been cajoled into it. Nonetheless he sends Diego his location and a thanks before turning and walking away from Dave as fast as his Bambi legs can carry him, even though everything is screaming at him to stay.

*****

Dave makes the first move, and it surprises Klaus because the man is so far in the closet that he must have a second holiday home in Narnia. And if Klaus recalls correctly, they are still within a time period where Dave can understand that reference.

Men and women sway, hand holding, hips swinging and heels tapping to brittle guitar, simple beats, and a keyboard theme on loop. The lights are low and the crowd is pumped with artificial friendliness, but there’s nothing artificial about the ear-splitting grin that Dave gives Klaus after bumping into him.

At first Klaus can’t place it. It could mean “I’m so happy you’re alive!” which would be apt given his disastrous first month. It could also be the “Hey! You! I know you!” look you get when someone you know recognises you when they’re off their face in a club. But Klaus settles for the third option, and it has everything to do with the bonfire blazing look that Dave gives him and nothing to do with the ecstasy that’s coursing through his system. “Drink?” Klaus yells, and they head to the bar.

It’s more of a shambling, stumbling, shuffle, but they arrive at last, gripping the polished wooden bar like two shipwrecked men clawing their way onto a beach. Alone, elbow to elbow, ordering shots, and Klaus isn’t sure if he’s imagining the electric current that he feels between them. He needs to bite his lip to stop himself from saying it out loud. Just as they turn to share a shy, awkward smile, his left arm is grabbed by a woman he was dancing with earlier and he’s shushed away back onto the dancefloor with his new partner, Dave following suit with another. Not that Klaus minds a bit, he minds quite an awful a lot, and wonders how the hell they’re meant to have any time alone.

It does happen, the alone time, and it takes patience that Klaus didn’t know he has. It’s a cigarette short moment in one of the quieter places of the club between the main danceroom and the sticky, sweltering streets outside. Dave gives him that look again, head leaning against the wall and arm extended to gently brush Klaus’ forearm. He responds by placing a hand on Dave’s stomach and feeling his accelerating breaths against the smooth, soft cotton of his shirt. The kiss catches Klaus by surprise, it’s soft and gentle and they’re barely touching really but it’s the most intimate encounter Klaus thinks he’s ever had.

The empty space hits him like a Canadian winter as Dave rapidly backs off, eyes wide, hands raised. Klaus opens his eyes and swallows nervously, clutching his sides with crossed arms. “I… I’m sorry.” Dave mutters quietly, still taking baby-steps back.

“It’s fine.” Klaus says faintly, heart hammering in his chest and it’s at least partly because he’s terrified that maybe he did misunderstand everything.

“No, I should go.” And he stalks off, head held high, back into the wardrobe. Klaus huffs a sigh of frustration and rubs his hands with his face. Then, with grim determination he pulls on his snow boots and marches off after him.

(It took three weeks to find him. They were in the scorching heat of the sun having only narrowly survived a monsoon of bullets. He kissed Dave hard, relieved to be alive and even more relieved when Dave kissed him back).

*****

They’re away on the bus again. Good. Fuck knows when they’ll be back.

“You don’t have to do this.” Ben, ineffably calm Ben, says from across the table.

“I have to try.” Klaus snaps a little too harshly as he runs his finger through the Dallas directory. “He said it was a hardware store, south side…” he mutters more to himself than anything. Ben walks through the table and stands in the middle of the phone book. “Ben for Christ’s sake!” Klaus yells, grabbing the book and taking a step back “Personal space, we talked about this!” Ben rolls his eyes.

“I need to know that you can handle thi-”

“Stop asking me that!” He raises his hands and the phonebook in frustration.

“Can you blame me? You spent seventeen years off your face and yeah, you might have three years sober but that’s three years without any drama or any stress, so forgive me for being concerned.” Ben’s face spills over with irritation.

“I run an alternative lifestyle group; you think that isn’t stressful?”

“I think you love every second of it and the attention they give you.” Klaus pauses, then nods thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I really do. They’re just so kind and thoughtful and generous and-“

“Klaus, stop deflecting.” Klaus rolls his eyes.

“Fine, look I know you’re worried, but I promise you I’ll be fine. I’ll play it cool.”

“Cool” Ben says disbelievingly, walking out from the table and brushing past his brother. Klaus sighs and cracks his neck, when the time comes, he’ll prove Ben wrong.

(Really, he won’t, but right now he thinks he will so that’s all that matters).

He leaves the expansive kitchen and walks into the larger meeting room that three years ago he pretended to levitate in. Ben is burrowed in one of the bean bags, scowling at the floor.

“Look I’ll make a plan; I won’t just go in there and half-ass it.” Klaus says, raising his hands in a sign of peace. Ben doesn’t look convinced.

“You’ve had chronic verbal diarrhoea since you learned how to string words together.” Klaus takes a deep breath in to stop himself from snapping back.

“Well I’ll try to control it better this time.” He says quietly, sitting on one of the cushions. Ben laughs humourlessly and looks down at him.

“I’m worried because whenever you get fucked up it’s like I can see you but I can’t talk to you, you can’t hear me half the time and you ignore me the rest and it’s so frustrating to not be heard.” And Klaus knows but he doesn’t really understand, not yet anyway.

“I’ll be okay.” He repeats again and his words fall flat compared to Ben’s real frustration. He picks up the phonebook and scans for addresses while Ben gets up and stalks away in a huff.

*****

He hadn’t been lying to Dave, he’d just omitted certain details. It is a fact that he is extremely overwhelmed, but it isn’t because he took too much acid and is having a bad time. Rather, it’s that Nelson has been standing at the foot of his bunk screaming bloody murder for close to four hours and Klaus doesn’t know how to make him shut up. His right arm has been blown off and he’s covered in dirt and blood. _I didn’t want to die! I didn’t want to die! What about my mom, my nieces-_

A hand touches Klaus’ shoulder and he flinches. “Klaus, are you okay?” Dave’s voice is soft, hand hovering above his shoulder. He nods slightly, peeling his eyes away from Nelson and fixing them onto Dave.

“Yeah.” Slowly Klaus wraps his arms around him, a hand on his stomach, another under the crook of his neck. It doesn’t stop Nelson’s pneumatic howling, but it makes it a tad more bearable. They’re lying on the bunk limbs interlinked like loose shoelaces, ready to spring apart if another soldier enters.

Even with the whisker long spaces between them this feels more personal than anything Klaus has experienced with anyone else. Before he stayed with people because he needed a roof, now he wants to stay here because he’s not sure he can accustom himself to go without the sounds of Dave’s breathing, the smoothness of his skin, and the utter stillness and serenity that just lying with him in silence invokes. It frightens Klaus how much he needs it.

For the first time in a long time, Klaus can feel an excitement in the air that he only feels when he makes new acquaintances, the first parts of a relationship where he can pretend to be someone he’s not. He can be funny, exciting, and whimsical, instead of someone aged like a fine wine in addiction and trauma. That might come later, but Klaus is an Olympic gold medallist for short-term thinking. He doesn’t have to return to his siblings, or the present, where he’s nothing more than a rehab flunky whose wrist sports fresh admissions tags like they’re neon rave bracelets.

Of course, he’s not an idiot. Klaus realises that at some point they will have to return to the real world.

(That is, providing they’re not killed).

Klaus isn’t sure what it says about him that he’s worried at how they will cope outside of an active warzone. And that doesn’t even cover the fact that he’s scared to leave an active warzone in case it breaks what delicate little thing he has here in the aching gaps and the comforting contact of their bodies.

They had another argument last night about whether to stay or desert and there’s a small, Ben sounding voice at the back of his head telling him that if Dave is still choosing his family over them, then what hope does that leave for them after? It doesn’t leave any guarantee that there will be a ‘them’, that he won’t just settle for some girl back home like his family expect. Then what about Klaus’ own family? They aren’t perfect, but they came back, they were worried about him, and he needs to make a decision.

(But it won’t be a decision, it will be a raw, terrible fleeing in a fight or flight response that leaves him crying on a sidewalk).

He needs to hold onto this feeling of comfort right now, the gentle rise of Dave’s chest, the security of Dave’s arms around him, and the nonsense they talk that means everything and nothing.

Klaus is not above being selfish to have this.

It’s not beneath him to use his selective memory if it suits his ends.

So, most importantly, Klaus thinks as Dave knots his arms a little tighter around his chest and Klaus rests his head on Dave’s shoulder, is that Dave chose to stay here with him rather than go to the town with the others. Tangled together in a jumble of limbs, the sounds of their breathing filling the barracks, content to do nothing but pass the time together. It’s everything Klaus didn’t realise he was missing, but in the stifling afternoon he can’t run from the fact that that although he is selfish, maybe Dave is selfish too.

*****

Klaus hates the winter. Utterly abhors it. It reminds him of wet socks, frozen fingers, and a constant search for accommodation. This year the winter chill came, like all the others before it, as instantaneous and irrevocable as the snap of a twig. But this year he huddles his jacket tighter around him and ploughs on against the bitter wind to the graveyard. This one is different; in the grand scheme of things it’s inconsequential now.

The funeral was everything winter isn’t, quick, simple, and warming as he took a shot and then poured another on the ground for Dave. Diego had offered to give him a lift, hell he’d even thrown in a sympathetic smile and Klaus was just waiting for his head to turn backwards to reveal he had been possessed. Klaus had declined with an appreciative nod and some bullshit that this was something he needed to do himself. He shoves his hands in his pockets, pulls open the cemetery gates, and makes a quick beeline for the bus stop. He’s not used to his family being so interested in one another’s lives, and there’s really only one brother who would know how to make him smile.

The bus is late, but it’s consistently late this time of year. It trundles around the corner slowly, windows half fogged with condensation, and Klaus wonders why they don’t just change the bus schedule to reflect the two minute delay, it would save him from freezing his ass on the sidewalk. He rubs his hands together to try and get some mobility into them to gather his fare. If Ben were here Klaus would complain to him about the bus and its irregular yet regular arrival. Ben would tell him to stop avoiding his feelings about the mini funeral he just held; Klaus would ignore him and get on the bus.

Once seated, Klaus looks at his hands and the dirt under his nails that he can’t quite bring himself to dig out just yet, like the tattoo on his stomach it’s a perverse souvenir. Though, really, it’s not like he needs any more reminders of the loss.

He’s reminded of it when he kisses a stranger and notices how they taste and feel so different and wrong.

He’s reminded of it every time Allison and Vanya try to rope him into going to a hardware store to decorate his room.

He’s reminded of it when he wakes up alone with the glacial December sun, the other side of the bed cold and hurtfully empty.

Klaus starts to pick at his nails and glances at the route map to his left. He isn’t sure if it’s normal to be this hung up on someone after three years without them and he doesn’t know anyone capable of maintaining a healthy relationship who he could ask about it.

If Ben were here he would tell Klaus that he never got over Dave, that starting the cult was a quick fix scam gone wrong and an attempt the fill the gaping loss of affection from one with the impersonal of many, that going back to drinking is just another. Klaus knows this because while he may have a Ben shaped hole to his right, he has a piss poor imitation of his brother narrating truth bombs in his head.

What do you do when you know the root of your problems and have seen the sights and landmarks of that well-worn path a million times but still continue to walk it? 

Klaus doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t know anyone who does. He doesn’t even know if he’s looking for answers. He’s just getting the number 12 bus that he knows will take him to Aveline’s Café, off the corner from Flora’s Floristry, and two blocks from a dive bar where he can hustle pool like a pro. He stretches his legs and stares unseeingly out of the window. Now he just needs to figure out if he’s going to start his day with a bourbon breakfast or eggs and orange juice.


End file.
